


Dream Dancing

by debwalsh



Series: Deb Gives Back [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dancing, Fandom Loves Puerto Rico, Fluff, Inspired by Art, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve and Bucky Dancing for the Win!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh
Summary: In which a move to the country leads Steve and Bucky to find a new reality, and a little bit of their old life as well.Inspired by the wonderful art by Aredblush, for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico fundraiser.





	Dream Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aredblush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredblush/gifts).



> Here’s my wonderful Fandom Loves Puerto Rico win from @aredblush ! I gave them the prompt “Steve and Bucky dancing,” and they came back with: 
> 
> I thought a good dance for them would be the Lindy Hop :) I don’t know if you are familiar with it, but I like that it is so fast-paced and relies a lot on the partners being there to support each other. I think it would be the kind of dance that Steve wouldn’t have been able to do pre-serum, but it’s accessible to him now and I thought it would be cute for present-day Bucky and Steve to get to dance it together now that they can (I am totally headcanoning them joining a little dance club that has a monthly gig at the farmers market or something). 
> 
> I accept that headcanon, and the piece is absolutely glorious!

* * *

Steve held the curtain back with one hand while he lifted his mug to his lips with the other.   The coffee was fresh, hot and fragrant, made from a blend that Bucky had discovered at the local farmers’ market the week before.  No question about it, Bucky Barnes had excellent taste in coffee, Steve thought to himself as he smiled and took another sip.  Nectar of the gods, indeed.

The farmers’ market had gradually become a lynchpin to their lives since moving to the little town of Meadowville, NY, population 3,527.  Well, 3,529 if you included two retired super-soldiers with enough compounded back pay to purchase an old farm and pretend they knew what they were doing with it.  Two city boys with more money than sense, his Ma would’ve said.

Steve took another sip, enjoying the way the rising sun poured molten gold across the landscape, limning the trees that lined their long gravel driveway, burnishing the broad lawn, gilding the little garden they’d started, and setting the local feline royalty Mr. Tom’s ginger fur aflame.

He drank in the sight, committing it to memory.  It deserved to be memorialized in paint, he thought.  Broad strokes, with a touch of light igniting along the edges.  The world preserved in warm honey.

They’d been in Meadowville now for over six months, and it was surprising how easily they’d settled in.  Once all the dust had settled, and the Accords were worked out, Steve had faced untold decisions.  But the biggest one had been the easiest.  He’d set the shield down because of Bucky, just as he’d picked it up all those years ago for him.  When Bucky had been revived from cryosleep, the trigger words removed and his cybernetic arm replaced by Wakandan technology, the first thing he’d asked for was to go home.

But home wasn’t how either of them remembered it.  There was no fourth floor walk-up, with cabbage boiling down the hall, and fragrant spaghetti sauce bubbling away down below, good-natured shouting, off-key tunes pounded out on the old upright piano in Mrs. Krauss’s parlor, all of it surrounded by  neighbors who’d known them both since birth.  There weren’t familiar faces and familiar places anymore.  All around them, people moved at speeds that seemed almost superhuman at times.  The city thrummed with never ending electricity, and it never fell quiet.

Bucky had found the constant prickle of energy distracting, even upsetting at times.  It interfered with his sleep, kept him awake and twitchy.  He couldn’t relax, couldn’t rest in the city.

So finally, Steve had suggested that maybe what they needed was somewhere that wasn’t New York, wasn’t Brooklyn.  Wasn’t city.

Pepper had taken it upon herself to find them a new location, and had set her favorite real estate guru the task of locating a peaceful, nurturing, welcoming place where the energy was grounded in the soil, not unleashed kinetically into the air around them.

Meadowville was strange and exotic to two men raised in the densely packed neighborhoods of Brooklyn.   But as soon as Bucky had gotten out of the car and stood on the gravel of the driveway, he’d breathed easy for the first time since they’d left Wakanda.  He’d looked at Steve from over the car hood with naked longing in his eyes, and Steve had smiled at him and nodded.

And now, Steve could hear the scuff and slide of Buck’s slippered feet shuffling across the linoleum of the kitchen floor, felt the heat radiating off his skin as he plastered himself, still sleep warm and soft, against his back, and circled his waist with his arms, resting his cheek against Steve’s shoulder, the fall of his long hair soft and silky against his skin.

“Coffee,” Bucky breathed into the cap of his shoulder.

Carefully, Steve pivoted in Bucky’s arms, and held his coffee cup up to his lips.  His waist and hips felt immediately cold as Buck grabbed at the cup like a life preserver.  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” he demanded drowsily as he emptied the mug.

And that was new.  Away from the city, away from the supportive and ever present eyes of their friends, the not-so-supportive glare of the media, even the world itself, they’d discovered that somehow, some way, the affection and the trust between them had morphed into something more profound.  Or perhaps it had always been there, and they just hadn’t known what to call it.  But now they did.  Bucky was Steve’s boyfriend, and Steve was Bucky’s.  Lovers, friends, til the end of the line.  And that suited Steve just fine.

Somedays he felt this kind of bubbling sensation in his chest, and was always surprised to recognize it for what it was.

Happiness.

“C’mon, I’ll get you a refill,” he told his sleepy partner as he plucked back his mug, and Bucky looked up to gift him with one of his brilliant smiles, and Steve felt like he was awash in gold, just like the garden had been.  “And I love you, too.”

&&&

Neither of them ever had to work again if they chose not to, so they dallied with that idea, doing things that caught their fancy, but eschewed pressure to perform, to deliver.  Their property was huge, bigger than their old neighborhood by a far cry, but most of it was fallow right now.  Instead, they’d taken a bit of land in front of the house and made a little garden – their Victory garden, Buck was wont to call it – and planted herbs and vegetables they thought they’d like.  Tomatoes, cukes, green beans, cauliflower. Basil and thyme, and a few others.  Carrots.  And a few strawberry plants, because both of them had a sweet tooth.  If it all took, next year they’d expand the plot, add more.  Maybe someday they’d turn the fields from fallow to fruitful.  Someday.  But for now, they tilled and cared for their little plot, feeling like they were part of the community that had made them feel so much at home.

In the meantime, most of their needs were met at the weekly farmers’ market.  By now, they were a fixture, the pair of them meandering through with their string bags and eager delight to try new things, sample new flavors.

The local brewer’s craft beers, the winery’s latest batch, the organic farmer’s veggies, the orchard’s fruits and ciders.  Fresh beef and luscious yogurt smoothies from the local organic dairy.  The best bacon either of them could ever remember having, raised, butchered, and smoked right down the road.  Ethically sourced coffee.  Even their home was outfitted by the market, with homemade soaps and cleaning products, even locally woven throws and towels.  Buck had commissioned a pair of handmade rockers for their porch, and Steve had been eying a pair of hammered copper lamps for their bedroom.

They both enjoyed the tastes and textures of the treats and treasures they found there, enjoyed the unhurried pace, the friendly faces, the community that had opened its heart to welcome them.

As usual, one of the booths was set up with a small stage with speakers strategically placed to show off some local musical talent.  Today’s offering was a three piece jazz band, offering classics modern and vintage, even some tunes that they’d listened to on the wireless back in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn.

Bucky hummed along with the music, a little two-step here, a little shuffle there, maybe a shimmy or a sashay there.  He looked at Steve and grinned.

“No,” Steve said decisively.

“Aw, come on, Steve.  Always wanted to dance with you to this,” Buck admitted, ducking his head so his long hair fluttered down to shield the blush that formed on his cheeks.

“You did not.  You were always dancing with some dame – no way were you gonna settle for Two Left Feet Rogers!”

Bucky set down his parcels and caught Steve by the hand.  “Course I did.  I remember my hands would itch with wanting to touch you, hold you.  And what better way than dancing, huh?”  He slid his other hand over Steve’s hip and pulled him into hold, and suddenly they were swaying with the music, side to side, a shuffle to the right, and then Bucky was spinning Steve, and the laughter bubbled out of both of them, free and bright and so full of joy and love.

“Hate to break it to you, Steve, but you are dancing,” Buck teased, leaning forward to rub his nose against Steve’s, grinning wildly as he picked up the pace and Steve followed.  Steve would always follow, and he’d never known just how intoxicating dancing with Bucky could be.  He’d imagined, oh so many times, watching him cut a rug in the dancehalls, holding his girls tight as he guided them through the steps.  He’d never really imagined himself in the orbit of Bucky’s arms, following his lead, and feeling the music move through him.  But he’d always wondered.

Okay, then.  Steve was dancing with Bucky, and it was the most magical thing ever to happen to him.  Well, since the magical things that had happened earlier that morning.  And the night before.  And … well, dancing with Bucky was _one_ of the most magical things to happen to him.  He didn’t want it to stop, but of course the band finished that song and moved on to another.  Bucky stepped back and bowed slightly, his face alight with joy.

And then Steve heard it, the smattering of applause, the sounds of people around them in gentle whoops and cheers, murmurs of encouragement and approval.  Steve looked around him, and saw faces smiling at them.  He couldn’t help but grin back.

“Well, that was lovely!” a woman in her forties announced as she bustled up to them.  Ms. Baker, the owner of the local art shop and one of Steve’s favorite shopkeepers.  “You two are so well suited to each other.  You know we have a dance club here in town – we’d love to have you join us!”

“What kind of dancing?” Bucky asked curiously.

“Pretty much anything.  We’re all learning the Lindy Hop this coming month, and we’ll do a little exhibition here at the market in about six weeks.  Maybe … maybe you could help teach us, Sergeant Barnes?” she asked shyly.

“Lindy Hop, huh?  I think I always wanted to dance that with you, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, just as well you didn’t.  Don’t think my ticker would’a taken too well to that,” Steve shook his head.

“That’s right, you had heart issues before your serum, didn’t you, Captain Rogers?”

“Remember, call me Steve.  And yes, I did.  I didn’t let it stop me from doing a lot, but there were certain activities that weren’t worth the risk.  Plus I was half deaf and completely lacking anything approaching rhythm,” he added, feeling oddly nostalgic for those days.  Sure, he’d had a lot of challenges, but he’d also had a lot of good in his life.  Then again, the best thing in his life was standing right here, hand warm and real in his.

“So … dance club.  Where do we sign up?” Buck asked, all feigned nonchalance, but Steve could feel the way the energy banked and sizzled below the surface.  He couldn’t wait to get on the dance floor again.  But with Steve?

“You sure about this, Buck?”

“Sure I wanna dance with my fella?  You betcha, Stevie.  Dancing and you.  My two favorite things to do, punk,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive grin.

“Jerk,” Steve grumbled with good-natured affection.  “Sign us up, I guess.  But don’t blame me if you end up getting kicked in the head when you try to throw me around.”

&&&

It turned out that Bucky was a very good teacher.  And remembering dance steps helped him recover good memories from his life before the Army, before Hydra.  So he happily threw himself into teaching the others the finer details of the Lindy, and even helped choreograph a number for the club to perform at the farmers’ market.

Steve’s favorite part of the performance?  The spotlight dance he got to do with Bucky.  Nobody got kicked in the head, and the applause had been enthusiastic and sincere.  And afterwards, he got to take his dance partner home with him.  They were both very okay with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title was inspired by a song written by Cole Porter, one of my favorite composers of the early 20th century. And this song would have been something the boys might have heard before the war. Once I looked at the lyrics, the story sort of flowed.  
>  **Dream Dancing**
> 
> When shades enfold  
> The sunset's gold  
> And stars are bright above again  
> I smile, sweetheart  
> For then I know I can start  
> To live again, to love again
> 
> When day is done  
> And night comes on  
> Until the dawn  
> What do I do  
> I clasp your hand  
> And wander through slumberland  
> Dream-dancing with you
> 
> We dance between  
> A sky serene  
> And fields of green  
> Sparkling with dew  
> It's joy sublime  
> Whenever I spend my time  
> Dream-dancing with you
> 
> Dream-dancing  
> Oh, what a lucky windfall  
> Touching you, clutching you  
> All the night through  
> So say you love me, dear  
> And let me make my career  
> Dream-dancing  
> To paradise prancing  
> Dream-dancing with you
> 
> Copyright 1941 Lyrics and Music by Cole Porter
> 
> * * *
> 
> For more on Fandom Loves Puerto Rico, check out the master post on Dreamwidth - <http://fandomlovespuertorico.dreamwidth.org/434.html#cutid1>. 
> 
> And take a look at all the other wonderful stuff in the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico collection at <http://archiveofourown.org/collections/FandomLovesPuertoRico>


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